Carving a Bond
by Finch
Summary: Silmarillion-based. Finrod Felagund cycle, Part 2: The Tale of Ereglas and Arothir. Chapter 2 & last is up. Cameo of Gil-galad at the end - but which one?
1. Default Chapter

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Carving a bond

Finrod Felagund cycle, Part 2: The tale of Ereglas and Arothir, Chapter 1 

Set during the first days of Nargothrond. This may seem a large jump in time after Part 1, but the next episodes in Finrod's personal history have all been dealt with in other fics: my own story _Separation_, which contains a passage about his choice not to return to Tirion; _Helcaraxë_ by Le Chat Noir, which describes his thoughts while crossing the Grinding Ice; and _Silver and Gold_ by Oboe-wan, which tells about Finrod's and Galadriel's coming to Menegroth and the subsequent events (though the focus is on Galadriel here). 

To those who asked whether Finrod left Amarië with child: I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the answer till the end of the cycle. 

Silmarillion-based - but Orodreth is Finrod's nephew, not his brother (Tolkien's latest thoughts on the subjects, in The Shibboleth of Fëanor, HoMe, Volume 12).

Disclaimer: It mostly harks back to Tolkien, but the characters Ereglas, Maegrist and Fristi the Dwarf are mine). 

WARNING: Not quite like my previous Silmarillion fanfics, due to the flippant style employed by the POV-character - who was, perhaps, invented for that reason. 

If you're a stonecutter, and out of a job because Menegroth is perfect, if not complete, and even the dwarves don't need you anymore, you can either decide to pursue a different pastime, or seek employment elsewhere. My father chose the latter, for he wasn't past his carving days yet. He is a Sindarin lordling with a Noldorin - sarcastic types like Saeros say dwarvish - passion for tools, a bit like that smith Eöl of Nan Elmoth, though fortunately of a more cheerful disposition. On hearing that King Thingol's great-nephew Finrod, from the overseas clan, wanted to imitate Menegroth in the caverns beyond the river Narog, he asked the King permission to offer Finrod his services. Thingol voiced no objections worth repeating. He loves to keep track of his numerous relatives, but Finrod was family, after all, and my father is a distant relation, not someone Thingol needs to have on a leash, like Celeborn. Not to mention Lúthien. And so, towards the end of spring, my father began packing his things.

I came home shortly before his departure, returning from a visit to my mother's kin in the forest of Neldoreth. Informed of his plans, I immediately appointed myself his apprentice, for I fancy myself to be something of a stonecutter, too, and I felt ready for the world at large. Both my parents objected, pointing out that I was not yet fifty years of age, and quite badly in need of more education and fewer unbraided hairs. 

'Experience is a form of education,' I claimed, as if I could know. 

'The road may be too dangerous for you, Ereglas,' my father countered. 'There used to be orcs around, just a short while ago.'

'I shoot a bow as well as any, and besides, the orcs were mostly massacred by the Noldor.' I tried to outstare him. 'If you were a dwarf, father, and I had a beard, you'd let me come along.'

An ill-considered remark. 'Then grow a beard,' my mother said promptly, 'and maybe we'll let you go.'

'Maybe I should go to Melian the Maia for help,' I mused aloud. 'She can do wonders.'

It was far from certain Queen Melian would receive me; our family was a bit rustic, and tended to avoid the pomp and circumstance of the Court. But somehow the threat worked; our Queen has a habit of being unpredictable. We left two days after this talk: my father Maegrist, and I, his apprentice, eager to learn whatever I could.

The road to the Caverns of Narog under the hills of the Faroth proved orcless, but not dwarfless: barely outside the Girdle of Melian we were joined by a group of Naugrim. They were also on their way to the caverns, having been hired by Finrod to hew some halls and armouries under the hills. My attempts at conversation were mostly unsuccessful. Not that they didn't speak Sindarin - they even spoke it among themselves, for outsiders are not supposed to learn their very secret and thoroughly unspeakable language. The only marginally polite reactions came from one Fristi, but as he kept speculating about the great rewards they'd receive from their patron, the inroad to fellowship proved a dead end. He seemed to munch on the word gold if it was food, and I began to wonder if these people actually fed on the stuff. 

Still, they weren't completely useless. Unlike us, they had been to the caverns before, and it turned out we needed them to find the entrance. This took some bribing, but as my father had trafficked with the likes of them before, we kept most of our tools, and our appearance retained a modicum of decency. 

There was a provisory gate with some Noldorin guards looking down their noses at us, especially at me, for I'm not overly tall. They were too arrogant to take bribes, or we might still be growing roots outside for lack of further means, but they kept us waiting for a considerable time after the dwarves were admitted. The name Maegrist meant almost nothing down there, it turned out, which of course showed their general ignorance of all matters Sindarin. But getting angry with Noldor is pointless; they are bound to get angrier back, or so we'd been told. So we chafed a little, my father sang a little stonecutter's ditty, and I danced an impatient little jig. But at last they condescended to let us pass, sending us on to the Master of Cutters, who used to assign the various jobs, and from him to the Steward, who could provide us with lodgings and that sort of thing. If he would, their faces said. 

Unfortunately, their directions were a bit vague, while the system of caverns was larger and more complicated than we'd expected. Weaving through a maze of lamplit corridors we met several people, dwarves as well as elves, and all heading into the same direction (the opposite of ours). Our path seemed to take us further and further up inside the hill, but without any points of reference it was hard to say how much. 

By the time we'd lost our way the place seemed emptier than the Plain of Estolad. 'We'll turn back,' my father said, frowning at the restless shadows the lamps cast on the walls. 'This is definitely wrong.'

'We haven't seen what's around the next corner yet,' I objected.

'More tunnels,' he said gloomily. 'And they're narrowing.' 

'Give me Menegroth any time,' I concurred. 'Maybe we mixed up the various directions they gave us at the gates. But if we round that corner now, and take the first corridor to the right, we'll probably be on a parallel route to -'

My father shook his head. 'There is no dishonour in retracing one's steps.'

'But what harm is there in persevering?' I countered. 'Why not split up?'

Unlike his distant relative Thingol, my father's a pliable person, until the moment he takes out his tools, that is. 'Promise you'll turn back if you see no more lamps,' was all he said.

I chuckled. 'Not being a cat, I'll have to.' 

So I rounded the corner on my own and saw... more tunnels, to be honest. But it wasn't long before I heard the sounds. Tapping, scraping, clinking - hammer and chisel, working away at the rock. And a voice singing softly and a little hoarsely in an incomprehensible tongue. After my near-monologue with the Naugrim I was sure it wasn't a Dwarf, and I decided the language had to be Quenya. Consequently, though his voice seemed to lack clarity, the singer was an elf of the Noldorin persuasion. 

A few turns away I found him, in a many-pillared, vaulted room, much better lit than the corridors I'd passed. Two shafts of evening light fell through openings in the cavern wall above my head, allowing the wind to roam freely. Powdery dust and grit danced about the pillars and about the stonecutter working at one of them. He was covered in it, which made him look a bit like a living statue.

He didn't look my way, but evidently he heard me, for he said, in Sindarin now : 'Just a moment.' Clearing the dust from his throat he added, his voice mightily improved: 'I'm almost ready.' 

'Uh,' I said, 'could it be that you're taking me fore someone else, master cutter?'

A pair of sea-grey eyes appraised me from head to foot. 'Well, from my point of view, you are someone else, for I was expecting a servant, or possibly my nephew.'

'I'm nobody's servant,' I declared haughtily, spoiling the effect somewhat by adding: 'And nobody's nephew.'

The hammer hit the chisel once more, and a chip flew over my head. 'But?' 

There is something to be said for honesty, too, especially when you don't know your way. 'Just a stone-cutter's apprentice, lost in this maze.'

'A stonecutter's apprentice? In that case, far from being lost, you may have come to the right place.' The hand in which he held his hammer made a sweeping gesture. 

Following its direction, I gaped at what had escaped me until now. Many of the halls and corridors of Menegroth had pillars shaped like beeches, with birds sitting among the boughs, or squirrels running up the stems, or garlands of flowers adorning the branches. The pillars here, at least those that were finished, were as exquisitely carved, but more varied: I saw a beech with a bird's nest in it, but also an elm, a rowan heavy with berries and even a holly tree sprouting the curly, sharp-tipped leaves I'm named for. But there were other pillars too, resembling elf-like beings, some sinuous and slender, others majestic - yet trees all the same, with boughs for arms and roots for feet and strange faces peering at me from among the foliage, some earnest, others full of mirth - and one mocking. When I stepped closer to take a better look, it suddenly blinked an eye at me. I stared at it, not sure if I had seen it right. Then I turned back towards the stonecutter, and for a moment I thought I saw him blink at me as well. But he didn't speak. 

My father is an excellent craftsman, in my, probably biased, opinion the greatest among the Sindar. But this was the peak of artistry, and I knew that as soon as Maegrist would set eyes on it, he'd bow to the mastery of the one who wrought this forest full of wonders. I coughed, and asked: 'You made this?' 

He nodded.

'It's marvellous!'

Instead of thanking me for the compliment or looking pleased, he merely raised a dusty eyebrow. 

Just like a Noldo. He was getting on my nerves, and pointing to the holly leaves I murmured, just to say something: 'You carved my name.'

'That would be Ereglas?' When I nodded, he walked towards a barely begun tree. 'You're an apprentice, you say? Could you do that, Ereglas? Carve your name, I mean?' He held out his hammer and chisel and indicated a spot. It was rather high up, but not out of reach. 

An apprentice has a claim to imperfection, so I had nothing to lose. I took his tools; they felt warm to the touch. Then a thought struck me: 'What if I spoil it? The rest is so perfect.' 

He wiped a hand on his apron. 'Nothing is perfect in this tainted world. Are you afraid to try?'

Incentive. I wheeled, raised my arms and got ahead with the job, working fast; the light outside began to fade. To his credit he didn't peep over my shoulder; instead, I heard him walk about, doing whatever he was up to. 

Holly leaves aren't easy. But because I'm named for them I had made several attempts at carving them back home, and I managed tolerably well. When he returned to examine my name in stone he had cleaned his face; without the grit it proved to be remarkably handsome. Throwing his towel over a sculpted branch he studied my leaf from various angles before passing the final verdict. 'Definitely holly. Not at all bad, for an apprentice. You can stay.'

I handed him back the tools. 'Thanks. Also for the compliment.' 

Perhaps I spoke a little too emphatically, for he laughed aloud. 'You think I forgot to thank you for yours?' 

Belatedly I realised that an accomplished stonecutter wouldn't attach much value to the opinions of untried young apprentices. 'I wasn't flattering you,' I said defensively. 'I know how to judge stonework. My father Maegrist of Doriath - a kinsman of king Thingol,' I added proudly - 'is a master in his own right. He's the one I'm apprenticed to.' 

He sketched a bow and opened his mouth, possibly to say thank you after all, but at that moment we got company. It was a youth with long, golden braids, not much older than I was. Well, maybe thirty years older or thereabouts, but I swear his eyes looked younger. I could easily see this was the aforementioned nephew, though his looks and demeanour were decidedly less flamboyant than his uncle's. 

He smiled into several directions at once. An engaging smile. 'Uncle Ingoldo, we've been wondering why you haven't honoured us with your presence at the table. But I understand you're entertaining a guest.'

'I'm afraid I put our noble guest to work, Arothir,' uncle Ingoldo said, without sounding sorry at all. 'But now that you mention dinner, I suddenly feel an urge to do some honouring. But I'll have to change first and wash my hair, or it won't have the intended effect. Will you lead Ereglas here to the dining hall?' He took the towel, searching for a clean part, and reached it to me. 'You've got chips on your cheek and forehead.'

I wiped them away, wondering how my usually auburn hair looked.

'Of course,' Arothir said, and now the full force of his smile was directed at me. 'Let's go.'

He knew a shortcut, and we set out for the food. On our way there, I saw Arothir glance at me from the corner of his eyes, but he remained silent. Hoping I would have more success with him than with Fristi and his likes, I brought up a topic for conversation. 'Are you a stone-cutter, too?'

Arothir shook his head. 'No. I'm to make a couple of stained glass windows*. I suppose you saw the gaps in the wall of the room we've just left?'

'Felt them, rather. I'm glad to hear it's only a temporary attraction.'

He smiled. 'Don't you like wind? There's a lot of it where I live.'

I was surprised. 'I thought you lived here?'

'No, my uncle borrowed me from my father to make those windows. When they're finished I'll return to my home in the hills of Dorthonion.'

'That's blustery indeed,' I said, knowing the reputation of those hills. Not that I ever saw them.

'Would you like to see my designs?' he offered. 'After dinner?'

'Sure,' I said. I had no opinion at all on the matter of stained glass, but I did begin to like Arothir. A lot, actually - and to think he was a Noldo... 

The dining hall was a large affair peopled with many elves and some dwarves, sitting at long tables on equally long benches. The noise was considerable and I saw no minstrels or other performers: this was a working force, not an assembly of courtiers. A high table was set at one end of the hall, with places for a number of lofty diners. Right now, it had exactly one occupant. 'The Steward,' Arothir said, following my gaze. Then, to my amazement, he started to lead me to the dais. 

I shook my head, scanning the hall. 'I'd prefer to sit with my father. If I can locate him.'

'My uncle called you "our noble guest",' Arothir pointed out. 'Noble guests usually dine at the lord's table.'

Inwardly I cursed myself for boasting about Thingol, for I'd feel completely misplaced on the dais. Fortunately, I'd spotted Maegrist by now - in the company of Fristi the Dwarf. 'I'm not that noble,' I told Arothir. 'Look, over there, that's my father.'

Arothir did not insist. Instead, he dogged me to the table where Maegrist and Fristi sat. While I sank down beside my father, he wedged himself in the narrow space opposite me, between two Noldorin craftsmen who cast him peculiar glances.

'You took your time, Ereglas,' my father said, while food and drink were being served to Arothir and me. 'And your hair is a mess.' 

Oh dear. 'I made a holly leaf in a windy place,' I answered rather succinctly. 

'I do hope,' he sighed, 'I'm not going to regret that I took you along.'

'I got a compliment for it.' And indicating Arothir I added: 'From his uncle.'

'And who is your uncle?' my father inquired, raising an eyebrow. 'A master stone-cutter, I may hope?'

'You may,' Arothir answered with a graceful nod of his head. 'Lord Finrod, son of Finarfin of Tirion upon Tuna, is the best stone-cutter in all Beleriand.'

'Aye!' said Fristi in his booming voice. 'I wouldn't know a better, nor a more royal _felak-gundu_, even though he's but an Elf.'

'No mean compliment, even from a Dwarf,' my father commented dryly. 

But I nearly fell from my bench.

* I don't know if this is canonical, but I've decided Elves, and certainly Noldor, like to stain glass. 


	2. Chapter 2

Carving a bond, Chapter 2

Eventually, Lord Finrod, alias Uncle Ingoldo*, honoured the hall with his presence, though when he came, he dismissed everyone who had finished their meals and were merely waiting for him. After the general exodus few people were left - only Arothir, my father, Fristi and me, in fact, plus a few servants. Seeing this, Finrod took his plate and joined us. Immediately after he sat down he picked up a piece of raw carrot and put his knife to it as if he thought it was too big to fit into his mouth. 

He was completely gritless now and looked every inch a lord, except that he spoiled it by blinking an eye at me over the carrot. I blinked back when he complimented my father on my skills; there was no way he'd get me to blush, I decided. Nonetheless he succeeded in doing precisely that when he asked my father about our kinship with Thingol of Doriath, and Maegrist chose to play it down. 

Fortunately, his nephew and I had finished our dinner by that time, and Arothir renewed his offer to show me his designs. We rose from the table, but before we left the hall I asked my father where he was lodged, so I could join him there later. 

As it turned out, there was a problem: the whole place was full; right now, everyone in Southern Beleriand seemed to be working here, with the possible exception of Círdan's shipwrights. Of course, they'd find a mattress for me somewhere, but probably only among strangers, perhaps Dwarves. 

I must have looked dismal. 'Why don't you share my room?' Arothir suddenly offered. 'It's large enough.'

'Indeed,' Finrod said. 'At present you've got more private space than the High King Fingolfin has in his citadel.'

'That's because I need this long table to make my designs,' Arothir defended himself. 'But we can push it aside.'

'Thanks,' I said. 'I'll gladly accept your offer.'

'That's settled, then.' Finrod smiled broadly, holding up his piece of carrot to inspect it. I saw he had carved it into the shape of an elaborate flower.

For a moment I thought my father was going to object, but all he said was: 'I trust you to behave yourself, Ereglas.' 

Arothir's designs were beautiful. They resembled paintings, except that every object on them was outlined in black. Two bright trees he had sketched: one gold, one silver, each surrounded by all kinds of beings: from tall and glorious elf-like shapes with deep, sparkling eyes to tiny, colourful butterflies. 

'Valinor,' he explained. 'If I succeed in mixing my colours the way I want and the panes are finished and in place, the sun will shine through, calling the trees to life - although it will be nothing compared to reality.' He sighed. 'But Morgoth and Ungoliant killed them. The light was extinguished, and Valinor went dark. And then Morgoth slew my great-grandsire.'

'And you left to avenge him and help us keep Morgoth at bay,' I said; the tale circulated in Doriath. 'But at least we've got the Sun and the Moon; I suppose they shine on Valinor, too. Wouldn't you like to go back, occasionally? The ships of the Falas -'

Arothir's reaction was peculiar, to say the least. He blanched, his jaws clenched, and all of a sudden he seemed unable to speak. Obviously, something was very wrong here. He looked so terribly unhappy and hurt that I put an arm around his shoulder without thinking even once, pulling him towards me and squeezing him tightly.

A little too tightly. Abruptly Arothir disengaged himself, his earlier dismay replaced by a different shock. 'Gracious lady!'

Somehow I don't think he meant me, for I'm not particularly gracious and hardly look like a lady. So he must have been referring to Elbereth Star-kindler. But in one respect he was right. Most stonecutters are male, but I happen to be of the opposite sex. Call me weird - though I wouldn't advise it, for my tongue can be as sharp as a holly leaf. But it could have been worse. I could have wanted to become a smith, for instance. 

Turning towards me again, Arothir searched my face, and then about everything below it. With his eyes, that is. There wasn't much to see, frontally speaking, and needless to say at this stage of the story, I dressed like a male. But if you know what to look for, you'll find it. Just as you may miss the obvious if you're not familiar enough with Sindarin to know that names ending on -las are given to both sexes.**

'You can't stay here tonight,' he announced sadly, having concluded his inspection. 'It would be unseemly.'

'Who is going to notice?'

'Probably nobody, but all the same...' 

'Who is it you don't trust, me or yourself?' I inquired. 

I got him there. 'Well, I suppose you could stay,' he conceded after a while. 

I'll skip a bit here, for I feel I'm dragging out this tale, and anyway I can't escape dealing with the less agreeable part. So I'll just mention that we had a good time in the caverns (and outside), that Arothir never mentioned what he'd discovered and we continued to share his room, that I learned a lot, especially on those occasions when Finrod borrowed me from my father, and that I was hardly an apprentice anymore when we left for Doriath to attend a party in Menegroth. 

We, that is to say Arothir, Finrod, Maegrist, me, plus a small escort. In the Forest of Region we met some Elves from the Falas who weren't invited but came along all the same, and in Menegroth Finrod met his brothers (and Arothir his father***), who were invited, and his sister Galadriel, who lived there at the time. And Maegrist and I met my mother, who actually thought I had matured in some way. 

The party was great, with lots of music. Our Daeron surpassed himself again, and it turned out Finrod played the harp tolerably well. Arothir and I had a whispered discussion in a corner; he thought I should borrow a dress, so he could in all decency dance with me, and I asked if he thought it was a good idea to show his uncle I was female. So, in the end we didn't dance but went outside to walk in the moonshine and there saw Thingol's daughter doing a dance of her own. I don't think she saw us. In all, it was a very satisfying feast.

I wasn't there when it happened, for my parents and I left for our home the next morning. But it was terrible. We heard it in the evening. The Elves of the Falas had come to tell the King of Doriath the truth. The Noldor were murderers, it appeared. Kinslayers, accursed, doomed, and exiled from Valinor. Thingol had accused Finrod of having blood on his hands. Finrod hadn't defended himself, and though Arothir's father had, the King had kicked them out of his realm and put a ban on their language.

So now I knew what was wrong with Arothir. 

My father isn't given to swearing, but this time he did swear. We were Thingol's kin, and the victims the Noldor had made were of our own blood. There was no way we were ever going to work in Nargothrond again, and I had to put that boy out of my head, or else...

'Arothir is innocent,' I cried. 'I can't believe he killed anyone. He was too young to have been involved!'

'Don't mention his name!' Maegrist roared. 'It's Quenya! And I hope for Elbereth's sake you haven't gone too far with that spawn of Ûdun! If I'd only known! At first I thought he might be a suitable party, but now I don't want you to-'

I stormed up to my room, locked the door and threw myself on my bed, biting into my pillow to prevent myself from crying out loud. My whole body shook. 

After an indefinite time had passed, a noise outside jerked my out of my despondency: the sound of my window being slowly and carefully opened. I had no idea how, for the handle was on the inside. Startled, I jumped from my bed.

It was my beloved. He climbed onto the windowsill, his face anxious, visibly wondering what I did and did not believe about him and his family and what they had done or not done in the Blessed Realm. 

A kind of gurgling sob escaped me, and leaping towards him I almost pushed him out of the window, though of course that wasn't my intention at all. He steadied both himself, and me and stepped inside. I whispered his name, going squarely against Thingol's ban: 'Arothir.'

Heaving a great sigh of relief he took me in his arms, and we kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and he said: 'I'm going to elope with you. I've put the stem of a felled tree against the wall below your window; can you climb down?' 

'Of course!' I said between my tears.

'Of course not,' said a voice from the window.

It was Finrod, leaning over the sill and shaking his head in an avuncular manner. 

'I'm glad I followed you,' he said to his nephew. 'I was afraid you might commit some folly or other. But there's really no need to. Thingol will undoubtedly cool off, and so will Maegrist, in due time. You two can always marry later. We don't need any more breaches and tears, Arothir. Or perhaps I should call you Orodreth now, in good Sindarin?'

Arothir pulled a face, not at all happy.

'What made you think he'd come here? How did you find out I'm a she?' I demanded to know, hugely disappointed he'd caught us out. 'I was dressed like a male, I spoke in the deepest possible voice all the time, and I don't look especially female.'

'My sister's voice is deeper than yours,' Finrod replied. 'But that's not how I knew you were a girl.' He grinned. 'Not that I'm going to tell you how I did know. Everyone has some secret or other. Allow me to keep mine, please.'

'You allowed us to sleep in the same room for I don't know how long!' Arothir said accusingly. 

'Was there any reason to fear you wouldn't behave with the utmost decency?' his uncle asked with feigned innocence. He looked from Arothir to me, his mouth curling. 'My own modest nephew, and a well-bred lady of Doriath? Are you suggesting I should have put her among the dwarves?' 

'You're terrible,' I said, shocked to hear myself say it. 

'I'm sure our mutual kinsman Thingol couldn't agree more,' Finrod said wryly. He turned to his nephew. 'Are you coming?'

I made a last attempt. 'And if I follow him anyway? Would you stop me?'

'I might just throw you over my shoulder and deliver you at your father's front door.' His voice didn't change markedly but I knew he meant business. Arothir knew it, too, I saw. The easy-going uncle had suddenly become a stern lord, and resistance was not advisable. 

His expression softened. 'Believe me, I know more about love and folly, rashness and regret than I care to. I would spare you the sorrows that follow such brief delights. You two can wait.' 

He turned out to be right: eventually, both King Thingol and my father did cool down, though it took them a century or so. Some time after that, we had the grandest wedding, with everyone's consent. And for a while, we were as happy as can be in Arda Marred.

***

My son put down the manuscript. 

'How can you write such a light-hearted story, Mother, knowing all that befell since? They were all killed - my father, his parents, your parents, Finrod, Thingol, and even Fristi the Dwarf - though admittedly he was killed by Time, dying of old age.'

'It's because I know all that befell since that I wanted to preserve some pleasant memories,' I said. 'Or the later-born will end up thinking the First Age knew nothing but tragedy. And as I am the only survivor, there is no one else who can write this story. Nor is it as light-hearted as you seem to think. Don't you like it?'

He smiled, and now I could not help blinking back my tears, for his smile is his father's. 

'It has a certain charm,' he replied. 'But I keep wondering how Finrod found out you were a girl.'

'Well,' I mused, 'in the first place he must have known the name Ereglas could be female as well as male. But sometimes I think...' I laughed softly and went on: 'You know, if a girl lifts her arms, you will be able to see her... contours more clearly from aside, even if she doesn't have a lot to show. And if he suspected nothing, why else would Finrod have asked me to carve a holly leaf six foot above the floor, hm?'

My son chuckled. 'Well... one more question. Maybe I'm being a little obtrusive now, but when did you actually fall in love with my father?'

'You are being a little obtuse,' I said. 'The answer, of course, is: not at first sight, but not much later either, Gil-galad. Not much later.'

*Ingoldo is the name by which Finrod's close relatives called him. 

** for instance, Nellas (f), and Legolas (m)

***Finarfin's son/Finrod's brother Angrod (Angarato)

Some additional remarks:

- Concerning Finrod's stone-carving: The name Felagund - Dwarvish _felak-gundu -_ 'was given because of Finrod's skill in lighter stone-carving. He cut many of the adornments of the pillas and walls in Nargothrond. He was proud of the name.' (The Shibboleth of Fëanor, HoMe, vol. 12, The Peoples of Middle-earth, p. 352). 

- According to The Silmarillion, Gil-galad is the son of Fingon. But in _The Parentage of Gilgalad_ (also in The Shibboleth of Fëanor, pp. 349-351), Christopher Tolkien states that this was 'an ephemeral idea'; J.R.R. Tolkien's last decision was to make him the son of Orodreth, who in his turn became a grandson, instead of a son of Finarfin. I follow him in this. 


End file.
